


Consolation

by InkStainedFingers



Series: Scrapbook Tales [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Eponine and Grantaire are angst buddies, Fluff, Not Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkStainedFingers/pseuds/InkStainedFingers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Let's get married, R.'</p><p>They play this game sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second instalment of Scrapbook Tales-these aren't in chronological order, by the way, just in the order in which they pop into my mind. Here's Eponine (I'm sorry, I can't figure out how to do the accent on my keyboard..) and Grantaire being angst buddies.
> 
> Also, do come and find me at inkundermyfingernails.tumblr.com on tumblr-I've changed it from scrapbooktales in case I end up creating any different AUs. There's some character artwork coming up :)

"Let's get married, R."

Eponine's voice is husky and wistful, ravaged from the minutes or hours-perhaps even the whole night-she has spent sobbing into his paint-stained pillows. Grantaire hasn't been counting the moments since the door to his attic room creaked open and a trembling Eponine-shaped silhouette had appeared in the yellow rectangle of light. She had crawled into bed beside him and pulled the half-empty bottle of wine from his limp fingers. Now she is curled wretchedly in the squishy pile of blankets and pillows and thin mattress on the floor that Grantaire calls his bed, the empty bottle somewhere under his desk. He is curled around her, shaping his body to her form, his knees tucked into the crooks of hers and his arm wrapped tight around her waist. He remembers thinking that if he held onto her tightly enough, he could perhaps squeeze the pain out of them both.

Eponine has noisily soaked his pillows and he has quietly soaked her hair. They don't do it often, but sometimes they need this release when the agony of loving unnoticed and unreturned begins to suffocate them. An iron band tightens and tightens around their lungs until they need to cry more than they need to breathe, and at this point they always seek out the other so that they can break together, and then reassemble themselves so that they can smile in the morning. Breaking apart on their own is dangerous, they know. They might not find all the pieces. They have cried until they are empty and until now, they have lain together in drained silence.

"What?"

"Let's get married. The two of us. We could do it, couldn't we? Get married and move away from here."

They play this game sometimes. Eponine fiddles absently with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Yeah, let's. We'll buy a house on the coast."

"Somewhere we can chain smoke and watch the sun set."

"I'll build a white picket fence."

"You can paint all over the walls in the house."

"We'll get a cat."

"We'll get two."

"We'll get fifteen."

Eponine giggles wetly. It's a victory for Grantaire.

"I'll wear pyjamas all day."

"I'll grow a proper beard."

"We can live off takeaways and coffee."

"And whiskey."

"Yeah, and whiskey."

"We'll fill the house with marijuana."

"We'll fill it with rubbish books and DVDs."

"We won't talk to anyone."

"Except Gavroche."

"Except Gavroche."

"Especially not...them."

"Yeah, especially not them."

"We wouldn't ever have to see them again."

"No."

"We wouldn't even think of them ever again."

"No."

"We'd be happy, wouldn't we, R?"

"We would. Let's do it, 'Ponine. I'll make it work, if that's what you want."

"Yeah, let's do it."

Grantaire suddenly leans over and presses a hard kiss to Eponine's cheek, tasting the dry salt on his lips as he does. He is not gentle, neither of them are used to that. He wants the spot to burn when she sees Marius next, so that she remembers that just because Marius doesn't love her it doesn't mean that she isn't loved. He lets himself drop back after a moment, his weary sigh stirring Eponine's hair. Her fingers tighten in his arm. The crescents of her nails will mark his flesh. It stings, but he knows that all she is doing is returning the gesture.

"We'll be all right, won't we, R?"

"We're always all right, _bambina_ , you and me."


End file.
